


Falling Out of Your Mouth

by LesMisgayrables



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Gen, Hurt No Comfort, I Tried, first attempt at angst, mandatory argument fic, unnecessarily ruthless Enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 20:25:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1164132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LesMisgayrables/pseuds/LesMisgayrables
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras has had a bad day. Nobody appreciates him taking it out on Grantaire and, for once, Grantaire agrees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling Out of Your Mouth

**Author's Note:**

> Unabashed plagiarism of The Brick in here. Sorry, Victor Hugo, for taking and murdering your masterpiece of a chapter.  
> This is an exercise in angst for me. I've never tried to write angst before, and while I think I failed miserably, it was... interesting to write. Might try it again.
> 
> Name from 'Leave', from the musical Once.

Enjolras had had a long day. His Philosophy of Law class had been detestable, he’d gotten an insane amount of papers due within two weeks, his car broke down on his way home, the gas prices were up again, his parents had called him twice while he was with the mechanic, he’d forgotten to put on sugar on his morning coffee, cut himself with a notebook, got a ticket for speeding, and lost his laptop charger somewhere in Courfeyrac and Marius’ flat. He couldn’t be blamed when he forcefully opened the door to the Musain, or when he cursed at a chair after tripping, or when he didn’t greet his friends with his usual smile. Everybody noticed the man’s foul mood, but none commented on it. He sat down and started sorting through his things while the others caught up.

 

The meeting was already past the mandatory social section and getting into the actual discussion when Grantaire walked in with a blank expression. Enjolras looked up at his entrance and felt an irrational splurge of ire.

“So our resident cynic decided to join us, after all.” Combeferre raised an eyebrow at him and Grantaire glanced his way briefly before heading to the bar and ordering a strong Irish coffee. This didn’t do anything to abase Enjolras’s displeasure. “Oh, come to drink in the corner again? Excellent. Try not to distract the others.”

“Enjolras, leave it,” sighed Bahorel, rubbing at his temples. Enjolras looked down at his notes, breathed in and out, and decided it really was quite unfair of him. He said nothing further.

Grantaire, indeed, found his usual spot on the back of the room, curled up in it and continued nursing his coffee, paying no mind to Enjolras or the others. The meeting continued in peace for another fifteen minutes.

“That arranges everything,” said Courfeyrac.

“No,” Enjolras replied.

“What’s left?”

“A very important thing.”

“Which is…” Courfeyrac prompted with raised eyebrows.

“The Barrière du Maine.” Enjolras pursed his lips in thought and then continued, “At the Barrière du Maine there are sculptors, painters and artists – they’re valuable, but difficult to get to, as I’m sure you know,” he looked at Grantaire dryly here. “They pass the time playing dominos at Richefeu’s. Someone should go talk with them and convince them to join us. I wanted Marius to do it; he’s nice enough, but… apparently we scared him off last week?” He sighed, “There’s no one left to do the job.”

“What about me?” said Grantaire. “I’m here.”

“You.”

“Me.”

“You, convince people to stand up for their ideals? You, convince people to believe? You, seriously?” Enjolras mocked. Grantaire shrugged and took a slow sip of his coffee.

“Why not?”

“Are you even good for anything?”

“I could be if I put my mind to it.”

“You believe in nothing.”

“I believe in you,” he replied, not a hint of joking in his voice, only a strong desire to please.

Enjolras snapped, “Grantaire, do me a favor?”

“Anything. I’ll black your shoes.”

“Don’t meddle into our affairs. Go ferment all the alcohol you’ve drank.”

“You are an ingrate, Enjolras,” said Grantaire, visibly hurt.

 “Are you calling me a liar, then? Are you accusing me of being unfair? Are you seriously trying to tell me you can talk about principles without mocking? Forgive me if I show no ready sign to believe you. What could you possibly talk about in a positive way?”

“I could talk about some things. You do me no justice. When I want to, I can be really persuasive. I’ve read Prudhomme, I know The Social Contract, I know of law and philosophy – more so than you, actually. Do you take me for an idiot? I have The Spirit of the Laws in my drawer. I have a superb ability to talk for hours on end; I can certainly talk for six hours in favor of your cause, watch in hand.”

“Be serious,” said Enjolras.

“I am wild,” replied Grantaire.

Enjolras didn’t stop to think for a second. “You don’t even have the benefit of the doubt. There is no doubt. You’re useless to this cause and to me,” he said. “You’ll do me a great honor with your absence.”

“Enjolras, leave it,” said Bahorel for the second time that day, but now with little bit more force.

“No, I won’t ‘leave it’, Bahorel,” he insisted. The unjustified fury was back. “Grantaire, leave.”

Jehan looked up with an incredulous look in his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“I was talking to Grantaire,” he replied with irritation seeping into his voice when Grantaire didn’t even acknowledge his words. “Leave. You’re disrupting the meeting.”

“Enj, you’re the one interrupting; Grantaire simply offered his assistance,” Courfeyrac said quietly.

Enjolras looked at Courfeyrac coldly, who shifted uncomfortably. “He has absolutely no contribution to make. He does nothing except drink and wallow in self-pity in the corner, or antagonize everyone in here, or make useless comments that do nothing but disrupt. I don’t understand why he even comes when he does absolutely nothing except getting drunk, distracting actually valuable people, mock us and then dare to offer ‘help’. It’s unf—”

“That’s enough,” Jehan snapped. “You will not talk for the group, and you will stop talking about Grantaire that way right now.”

“No, it’s all right,” Grantaire mumbled into his mug, touching Jehan’s hand gently. “Go back to where you’re needed most. I didn’t really expect him to accept my help.”

“Wow, it looks like Grantaire said something intelligent, for once,” said Enjolras with mock surprise.

“Enjolras, _enough_ ,” Joly warned. “Stop it. Everyone is fine with Grantaire helping, except you. We know you haven’t had the best of days, but there’s no need to take it out on Grantaire. He didn’t do anything.”

Someone cursed under their breath. “I know he didn’t do anything. He never does anything. That’s why I’m telling him to _leave_. Hopefully forever, because I can’t take it anymore.”

Grantaire stood up in surprise, making the chair fall back. The room was tense and silent. “Shut up, Enjolras,” he said calmly.

“If you don’t want to hear my voice, get out!”

“Fucking hell, Enjolras, shut the—”

“Don’t get into this, Bahorel.”

“Yes, Bahorel; let the mighty leader spit it al out. Let’s see where this goes.”

“Stop pretending you want to hear what I think and get the fuck out,” Enjolras snapped. Bahorel was about to stand up, but Feuilly grabbed his arm and pulled him back down.

“Well, that’s a first. Apollo curses, after all.”

“Grantaire, don’t encourage it.”

“Don’t get into this, I said,” the blond snarled and finally gave in to the urge to stand up as well. “Tell me one reason why I should let you stay.”

“To be honest, there’s none,” Grantaire responded, “but I quite like it here, so I don’t think you’ll be able to shoo me away.”

“You’re an ass.”

“I’m _invaluable_.”

“You’re useless—”

“I’ve been told.”

“—nothing but a nuisance—”

“I know.”

“—obnoxious—”

“Very.”

“—pathetic, drunk and everything that I despise in this world, and I wish you’d leave.”

Grantaire finally gave some sign of life in the form of a stagger. “Well, I’m sorry not all of us get to be perfectly put together all the time.”

“Just shut up and go back to whatever it is you do when you’re not being an ass.”

“I like being an ass better, and clearly so do you.”

“It’s always the same with you. You think you’re awfully clever when in reality you’re a waste of time. If you weren’t here, we would be twice as productive.”

“At least I actually live. You just sit there looking pretty and do nothing for the real world. If you actually did anything, you wouldn’t—”

“I’ve accomplished more today than you could in five years. I know what—”

“You know nothing. You’ve seen nothing. You don’t know what it is to live in hardship. You don’t know what it is to not have it easy. You’re a hypocrite, ignorant asshole with your head far up your ass.”

“As if you knew any better. You never get your head out of the bottle.”

“You couldn’t know less about my life if you tried.”

“I know all I need to know about you to know that you’re nothing.”

“ _You’re_ the one wasting their life chasing smoke. I’ve made actual changes in actual people’s lives. Your useless preaching does absolutely nothing except make you feel better about your—”

“Who the are _you_ to accuse me of being useless? You! I devote my life to chang—”

“Indulging in self-serving righteous fury doesn’t make you any more valuable than anyone here, and certainly not me. I’m just as much of a person as—”

“A rat brings more to this world than you, Grantaire,” he spat out.

“Oh, _fuck you_. Fuck you, Enjolras.”

“So unused to hearing the truth, are you?”

“You want truth?” Grantaire took a few steps forward, but Enjolras held his ground. “You’re a piece of shit. You think you’re so special, but you’re right there in your expensive clothes and new shoes shouting at an equal man for not doing what you like, and for not living up to your standards, when your standards have always been silver platters, prestigious schools, heritage, mental health and easy living. You tell me that I’m worthless and that I do nothing with my life when you’ve never lived a day as I do, and when you have none of the extra shit I have to deal with.

You’re exactly what you hate: a bigot, privileged bastard who believes everyone will be willing to spend time playing with them instead of tending to the shit most of us have to tend to daily. You condemn people who don’t take the time of day to agree with you, but toss them away when they want to help. You brag about tolerance and acceptance, but resent the fact that I am here simply because I’m not what you want me to be. Let go of your sanity and money for one day, Apollo. I’d like to see you try. I’d like to see you do any better than I. I’d like to see you deny my help after that.

Now please continue fucking degrading me while you talk about the equality of man.”

“Get the fuck out of here, you _shit!_ ” Enjolras exclaimed loudly.

The room fell completely silent and everyone froze in their place, including Enjolras, who stood a little shocked at himself. His mind quickly flooded with regret he couldn’t seem to be able to voice. Grantaire’s eyes welled up for just a second before he took ahold of himself again with deep breaths.

Combeferre broke the silence with a firm voice. “Enjolras, stop. Grantaire isn’t going anywhere.”

“Oh, aren’t I?” asked Grantaire, finally looking at someone other than Enjolras. Combeferre looked at him in surprise, but Grantaire spoke again before he could open his mouth. “You really are an ingrate,” he hissed.

He jammed his beanie on resolutely and departed.

Jehan bolted right after him and called out loudly, but after a few tries stomped back inside and stood menacingly in front of Enjolras, who was starting to look stricken.

“You fucking asshole,” he whispered heatedly before running out of the café again.

Silently, the rest of the Amis stood up and walked out, barely sparing a glance at the blond and not even bothering to tell the staff of the café to mind their own business.

Once everyone save Combeferre had left the place, Enjolras sat back down slowly, noticing his trembling hands, and focused on trying to breathe normally, but however much he tried, he couldn’t seem to retain the air inside of him, his breath being punched out of him every time he inhaled. Pain started prickling behind his eyes and his chest _hurt_. His extremities felt cold, his hands were trembling, his eyes were burning and his diaphragm wasn’t working, but the pain in his chest, irrational as the ire that started all this in the first place, was the ache that made him crumble down to the table.

He gasped in a breath, but the pain only got worse. He realized he might be having a panic attack. Combeferre sighed and helped him through it.

 

 

 

Grantaire didn’t show up to the next meeting. Or the next. Or the next. The Amis were cold around Enjolras; he didn’t pretend to be anything other than deserving, for once.

“Where is Grantaire?”

“Absent,” Bahorel replied.

 

“Where is Grantaire?”

“Probably getting drunk in a bar, because that’s all he does in his worthless life, apparently,” said Joly faux-pleasantly with a cold smile.

 

“Is Grantaire okay?”

“What do you care?” scoffed Jehan and turned to his notebook and started doodling idly, obviously just avoiding looking at Enjolras.

“I care! I’ve been asking, but everyone refuses to answer.”

“Gee, I wonder why.”

“Jehan, please, you’re better than that.”

“Am I, now? So I’m disappointing you, too? Shall I leave, as well?”

“Jehan,” he spoke softly. Jehan didn’t reply.

 

“Where is Grantaire? Is he alright?”

Éponine didn’t look at him once, walking out of the Musain as soon as the barista gave her the coffee she’d ordered.

 

“Have you talked to Grantaire? How is he?”

“Why would I tell you? Ask him yourself,” muttered Courfeyrac from the couch. Enjolras gripped his hair and opened his mouth to talk again, but Courfeyrac walked out of the room.

 

“Feuilly, has Grantaire been coming to his shifts here?” he asked over the counter. Feuilly gave him an assessing look.

“The meeting is at seven today, right?”

Enjolras looked at him with a pained expression, but Feuilly didn’t seem to relent. He sighed. “Yes, at seven.”

“Alright.”

 

“Hey, Marius,” he said, trotting up to Marius, who turned around in surprise.

“Oh, hello. Fancy meeting you here,” he said pleasantly. Enjolras smiled swiftly.

“Yeah, okay. Listen, have you seen Grantaire around? Or has Éponine said anything about him?”

Marius raised an eyebrow and looked ahead again. “Ah.”

Enjolras wanted to punch him. “‘Ah’? So? Have you?”

“You know, Grantaire is one of my closest friends.”

“Really? I didn’t know that. So I figure you’ve heard from him these two weeks?”

“Yeah, he is. Let me crash on his sofa a few nights when I wanted to give Courfeyrac a rest. We met in fencing class about three years ago.”

“Fencing?”

“It wasn’t until my runaway that I became close friends with him, but I knew him before the Amis. Before Courfeyrac.”

“I didn’t know any of that, either.”

“Clearly. You don’t know much, do you?” he asked, never losing his casual tone. Enjolras sighed and gave up.

 

 

Grantaire hadn’t shown up to the meetings in three weeks, and neither had Éponine. Enjolras had mostly given up about finding some cooperation soon; he’d let it cool off.

He walked into the Musain for an impromptu matinee coffee and sat down as he waited. It was quiet around this hour. He heard someone open the door and order a coffee. He was exhausted from last night’s studying. A barista called his name when his coffee was ready and he stood up, looking at the bar, where Grantaire was looking at him with an alarmed expression. Enjolras blinked a few times and took a step toward him with a little smile, but Grantaire took a step back and turned around, walking out of the Musain quickly. Enjolras stared after him for a moment, grabbed his coffee and strode outside, but didn’t know which way to go. He kicked the wall in frustration. Then he took his foot in his hands and cursed in pain.

Enjolras came again the next day at the same time, but Grantaire was not there.

He started coming at every free hour in his mornings. Grantaire was not there.

He poked his head into different bars each night. He didn’t see Grantaire in any of them.

 

A month after the fight, the meetings at the Musain had come somewhat back to normal, though nobody would talk about Grantaire in front of Enjolras still. He didn’t even try anymore, knowing he’d get no answer.

He walked into the Musain one afternoon after the longest short lecture of his life and ordered a loaded latte. He looked around and yes, there he was, looking at the steam rise from his cup. He hadn’t noticed him yet. He avoided getting called by the baristas, practically snatching his cup from the poor woman’s hand just so she wouldn’t have time to say his name loudly.

He took a deep breath and walked to Grantaire’s table. He stood there for a few seconds, waiting for him to look up, acknowledge him, anything, but he didn’t, so he sat down opposite him. Grantaire was still looking down, but Enjolras studied his face as much as he could: he looked haggard. Enjolras sipped his coffee and looked down at his own cup. They sat in silence for what could’ve been a few minutes.

Enjolras looked up again when the silence started making him feel short of breath. Grantaire eventually looked up at him, too, and neither of them was ashamed to admit that they were drinking the other in. They took their time, still in silence.

After a while, the corner of the blond’s smile curled just the tinniest bit upwards. It wouldn’t have been seen at all, had Grantaire not be paying close attention. The brunet didn’t smile back. Enjolras looked down at his cup again. He swallowed in preparation.

“You won’t forgive me this time,” he stated. Grantaire took a while to answer.

“No.”

“You always forgive my… you used to forgive me everything. Not this time. I understand that. I know you don’t deserve it.”

Grantaire nodded once tersely in agreement. “I don’t.”

“I’m terrible, and the things I told you are inexcusable. There is no possible way on earth I could even begin to justify what I said.”

“Correct.”

“What I said isn’t true at all. It was completely unfair, uncalled for, and untrue.”

Grantaire nodded again. Enjolras sighed and fumbled with this cup of coffee.

“I didn’t mean th—”

“Wrong.”

Enjolras grimaced. “Okay, _at the time_ I meant it. I just wanted to hurt—”

“And you succeeded spectacularly.”

“—you, and that was my biggest mistake. Wanting to hurt. You.” He paused for breath and looked up at Grantaire again, who was watching him coolly. “You really didn’t deserve it. You don’t deserve any of the things I throw at you. I’m a terrible person to you for no justifiable reason, and you should not forgive me.”

“And I’m not,” Grantaire replied. Enjolras nodded.

“I want to apologize, anyways.”

“Apology accepted.”

“No, Grantaire,” Enjolras said with conviction, “I want to apologize continuously, for as much time as it takes. I want to start this whole… friendship thing over.”

“Friendship. Are you telling me what we had was friendship?” asked Grantaire, eyebrows raised sardonically. Enjolras looked somewhere other than his face.

“What I mean is…” he struggled to find the correct words. When he did, he looked at Grantaire again, “I’m asking for your permission to have a fresh start. I’m asking you to let me try again, and this time I’ll really try. You don’t have to do anything except give me permission. I’ve been… you were right about me. I acted exactly like the people I hate; I’ve never been the person I want to be, at least when I’m around you. I told you that you don’t live up to my ideals when I was being the lowliest of hypocrites in your presence. I want to correct that.”

Grantaire looked at him for a few long seconds. “You’re not good for me. It’s better for me if I don’t let you, I walk out of here and never see you again; continue moving on with my life.”

“That’s what you’ve been doing?” asked Enjolras weakly. Grantaire ignored him.

“So why the hell should I give you a chance?”

Enjolras licked his lips. “I’ve never regretted anything in my life, except this.”

“Ah.”

“I was and am disgusted with my behavior.”

“Me too, actually.”

Enjolras did his best not to squirm under the hard look the other man was giving him. “Everyone misses you at the meetings. They’re not the same without you. Your absence is very disheartening.”

“I thought it was honoring you.”

“It really wasn’t. It isn’t. I need you at the meetings. Everyone does. You’d… it’d be an honor to have you back.”

Grantaire didn’t say anything. Enjolras didn’t know if he was unimpressed, waiting for more, thinking, or spacing out. He kept talking.

“I’ve thought about what I said, what you said, since that day, and you were right about everything – except when you talked about my standards and money and—but that doesn’t matter. I’d like to get to know you as I know the rest of my friends.”

Grantaire said nothing again. Enjolras looked down at his coffee nervously and put his hands flat on the table.

“This is very difficult for me,” he admitted, and wasn’t really surprised when Grantaire said nothing. He waited for a minute before speaking again. “So, do you… consent? Do I have your permission?”

He saw Grantaire take his own cup in his right hand and raise it slightly, looking at Enjolras expectantly. The blond dubiously took his cup in his left hand and raised it, too. Grantaire clinked their hot coffees together and took a sip, still looking at Enjolras. Enjolras internally sighed in relief and took a long drink. They put their cups down and looked at each other again, back to silence.

Enjolras’ gave him a small, tentative smile. Grantaire pursed his lips and looked out the window.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope that wasn't too bad. Sorry if it was, though. Like I said, first attempt at hurt/comfort (or no comfort? Not sure).


End file.
